Beyond the Boundaries of Reality
by lnky
Summary: The Dursleys have never considered him ordinary, but little did they know that he was far beyond what was normal even in the Magical world. "We must become a force to break the world in order to heal it." AU. Ambition, cunning, ancient powerful magic, politics. Dark!Harry, Powerful!Harry.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** : I do not own the Harry Potter franchise.

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Beyond the Boundaries of Reality

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 **Chapter 1 - Prelude**

He was one year old when it happened.

The whole cottage trembled for a moment, with an ominous sound. The lights flickered, plunging the house in darkness for an instant, then came back. The magical protections, powered by ancient runes and glyphs were no more, and instead, an eerie haze settled instead, feeling slippery to the magical senses. The fireplace flashed and the flames turned red. It could only mean one thing.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

James Potter, the last of his line, stared at his wife with wide hazel eyes as she looked at him with cold, hateful eyes. He did not notice the wand she was holding in her hand.

"Lily, what in the name of," he started, only to stop abruptly.

A green light flashed through the room, and soon enough, the sound of something heavy crumpling on the floor, then down the stairs, was heard.

"I'm so sorry…" whispered Lily Potter, then turned around and walked purposefully to the crib, a green fluorescent orb of smoke hanging on the tip of her wand. She had a job to do.

A baby looked up and saw his mother, a smile adorned his small face and hazel eyes filled with mirth, then looked at the glow surrounding the wand she was holding and let out a laugh.

"I hope you can forgive me." She said as she lifted her wand once more.

The baby's world exploded into a cacophony of lights and sounds and he started wailing, tears streaking down mixing with the blood pouring from a lightning-bolt shaped would on his forehead.

"Stand aside, girl" a new voice began, as a figure appeared in the doorway, but was interrupted by an explosion, the shock wave traveling hundreds of miles around the small town of Godric's Hollow.

Later that night, when the baby opened his eyes again, they were green.

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Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were proud to say that they were perfectly normal people, who lived in a perfectly normal house and, were proud to say they their garden had the smoothest and greenest grass in the whole neighbourhood. They had an adorable son, Dudley, who they loved very much, and overall, their family would have been the perfect picture of normalcy if it were not for another detail; they had a nephew who was anything but normal.

At four years of age, Harry Potter was an exceedingly bright boy. He was well-mannered, spoke clearly, and had an abnormal amount of intelligence glistening behind his emerald green eyes. He had a skinny and slightly small body for his age, messy black hair with a few strands of red and wore clothes which were much too large for his small stature. He performed his assignments promptly, took care of his needs without assistance and quite frankly, the teachers in the nursery were baffled that his guardians, the Dursleys, did nothing dismiss their praises or concerns.

His aunt and uncle were no non-sense kind of people who did not accept any strange behaviour, and his cousin, at the tender age of four, had already found his calling in a game called 'Harry Hunting' where Harry was his personal punching bag, but he couldn't often catch him. Harry didn't look it, but he was fast and agile. Behind the veil of normalcy, Harry's life was anything but normal.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in the dark cupboard under the stairs, or the strange way the spiders behaved around him – the cupboard where he slept was full of them. Perhaps it had something to do with the strange things that happened around him when he was particularly excited, or frustrated.

And today, Harry was particularly excited, and it was not because his last day of school before the summer break just ended or the fact that his fifth birthday was coming in a few weeks. Neither was he excited at the prospect of leaving Privet Drive, his trunk already packed. No, Harry was excited for a completely different reason.

Today was the day his magic was finally unlocked.

Whereas before, he could only get bouts of accidental magic, he had full control over his magical pathways now, and could control his magic consciously – although in a very limited fashion, without a focus. But that was about to change, as he had finally the means to go to Diagon Alley, the British magical district.

One might wonder how Harry Potter knew all about his magic and the magical world.

The truth is, he wasn't exactly Harry Potter.

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AN: How do you like it? Can you guess what happened? Read, review and follow if you like it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Harry Potter.

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Beyond the Boundaries of Reality

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 **Chapter 2** \- The-Who-Who-Lived?

 _It is generally accepted that all living things have a soul. Magicals have souls, and so do muggles, animals and plants. We also know that magical souls are immortal because spirits cannot decompose. They have no parts: only a thing with parts can fall apart. A spirit is a unit. It has no top or bottom, no left or right, no inside or outside._

 _Every bit of matter, even the smallest, has parts. The human body can decompose, the mind can rot, it's made of matter, after all – but the magical soul cannot. Magical, and in this instance, muggle minds, are rational and reason emerges from the pathways of the senses that are distributed like the roots and fibres of a tree, synchronized spiritually with the soul._

 _It has also been observed that while the soul can persist incorporeally, the memories and personality of the living can only persist temporarily outside of the body, coherence of the mind maintained magically, which shall naturally decay, leaving only the strongest of memories and instinct that have been deeply imprinted on the soul throughout the life._

 _Italian archwizard Giorgio Vasari has theorized in 1550 that the memories and personality could be imbued into a representation of the body, through the medium of painting with enchanted oils, and only recent advances in the creation of magical portrait have given us conclusive proof that the soul necessitates a corporeal form in order to draw ambient magical power and sustain its [weak] link to the magical representation of the mind…_

 _\- Nicholas Flamel, On Souls and Mind. 1620._

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Lily Evans Potter was ecstatic. She finally did it, she finally connected with her magical circuits, or pathways if you will, and managed her first piece of non-accidental wandless magic.

While she could barely create a spark, or levitate a pencil magically - no better than most squibs - but it was still enough to access the Magical world once again, to breach the compulsions or protections of the Leaky cauldron, to open the passageways to magical areas or access funds at Gringotts. To be a Witch once again.

"A Wizard, not a Witch." She reminded herself one more time.

Ever since that fateful night, she wasn't exactly the person she used to be. She was still Lily Evans nee Potter, from a certain point of view. But she also was Harry Potter, her own son.

After years of reflection, she could not definitely say that she was the same – in her mind – as she was before. Memories of that night were unclear, and were likely to stay that way forever. She did lose something of herself, not just memories, but something more profound; a part her soul.

Was she Harry Potter now? Was he dead, spiritually speaking? 'Or perhaps,' she trailed, then decided to proceed with her plans.

She could not recall why she did what she did, but that did not matter. She had plans before, and she still had them now. Whatever transpired that night was only a setback, and in the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.

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Leaving Privet Drive was easily done, after all. Her relatives did not particularly care about her presence for dinner, and they might have assumed that she was punished by either party, as it often was the case, and was safely tucked away in the cupboard under the stairs.

What was harder was getting from Surrey into the city centre and reaching Charring Cross Road, where the gateway between the non-wizarding world and Diagon alley was located.

'Confidence, it's all about confidence,' she muttered to herself as she purposefully left the Trafalgar Square Station and walked towards the wizarding pub, the Leaky Cauldron. While she gattered many glances that left the back of her neck sweaty and uncomfortable, she maintained a focused look on her face and walked at an even pace, face looking forward, and no one stopped her.

At last, she reached the Leaky Cauldron, feeling the tendrils of magic reaching her mind and trying to divert her look and attention. 'Muggle repellent and notice-me-not enchantments,' she thought as she cut those tendrils and waved the magic away.

She was far less worried about being in Diagon Alley – while a young child alone on the streets may look out of place in the muggle world, the wizarding world had its fair share of oddities and strangeness and as such, being unusual would make her much more inconspicuous than, say, wearing a bandana looking like an average joe would.

An old sign hung above the door, with symbols of wizarding stories on its upper part. _Tales of Beedle the Bard_. On its lower part hung a slightly rusted bronze cauldron, seemingly leaking liquid through a hole in its bottom.

Pushing the door open, which took considerable amount of effort from her small frame, she stumbled into the small, dingy place. At this time of the day, it was crowded with a low buzz of chatter, witches with pointy hats sitting in a corner and waving their hands as they talked animatedly, a short bald man smoking a very long transparent pipe, a very tall and thin man dressed in cerulean blue robes talking to the bartender, a myriad of smells reached her nostrils; old memories were brought to the front of her mind. For a moment, she remembered the first day she came to Diagon Alley, nearly three decades ago. Then she dismissed those memories and made her way between tables and reached the counter.

"Mr. Tom, sir. Would you mind opening the passage for me?" she asked in her sweetest voice with a small smile.

The bartender looked around for a second, then looked down. "Good lord! I Didn't see you there, young man," he winked and said, "here, follow me."

He led her to a small walled courtyard, overgrown with moss and vines, and tapped a seemingly random pattern on the bricks. Seconds later, the bricks opened into a large vaulted archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

Steadying herself at the sight, she gave a short "Thank you, sir" to the bartender, and went onwards, taking an occasional look at the shops, until she reached a tall building made of white marble, with great bronze doors with silver words engraved upon them, and standing beside the doors were goblins in uniforms of scarlet and gold. Upon seeing them, they glance at her, gifting her with a crooked smile showing pointy yellow teeth, then resumed their posture.

'Gringotts, here I am.' She thought as she went right in.

Just like the last time she came, the vast hall was filled with a long counter behind which stood goblins in high stools, counting golden coins and scribbling on ledgers with long quills.

"Evening, sir," she said to a free goblin. "I'm here to retrieve personal items from my vault."

"Key?" said the goblin, looking down with shiny, piercing eyes.

"I'm afraid I am no longer in possession of it."

"Name, and vault." He asked, after scrutinizing her for a moment.

"Harry Potter, vault 22." She said, and as an afterthought, added, "the last enemy that shall be destroyed is death."

The goblin's eyes widened at those words and glanced at another goblin, who gave a nod. "Very well, I will have someone take you down to your vault. Fingerclaw!"

She followed the goblin towards one of the doors leading off the hall, entering in a narrow passageway lit with torches, a railway track leading into darkness.

She sat in the cart, with the goblin in front of her. He pulled a lever.

"Here we go." She muttered, then took a deep breath.

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 **Location:** Italy, Rome.

The domed ceiling was as black as a moonless night – one would think easily that the ceiling was open to the abysses, have they not seen the structure from the outside. Wooden panels of rich, dark wood adorned the walls, with tables, leather chairs made of that same wood.

A man was sitting on one of those chairs, only his long brown hair visible from the Wizard's point of view.

"There has been a change in the currents of Fate, my lord."

"Indeed," answered the man, with a deep and rich voice.

"May I ask, what will you do, my lord?" Asked the Wizard, tentatively.

"That… is not your concern."

AN: We can't have a story where everything is going right for the hero, or it would be a boring read. Right? Who is this man in the last scene? Points if you can guess.


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